Remnants Ch 06

(Jack)

After that one billboard, they begin seeing signs of other people. At first, it's a well-worn track, footprints clearly visible in the dry dirt. It makes Jack nervous; greyskins leave footprints, too. But no one else seems to care, so he shrugs and keeps walking. Unfortunately, Samuel and Verity are still with them, walking with Jeremiah, where Jack usually does. He supposes he could join them, but the thought of having to listen to that know-it-all Samuel makes him hang back. Even crazy boy's a better companion at this point; at least he doesn't talk as much.

It's the third day since the billboard. The sky boils with black clouds, the landscape giving way to rolling hills and trees. It's a bit of a relief after the barren landscape they've been seeing, and Jack is more than ready to bed down on some soft grass for the night. He can't help thinking about the tent Verity and Samuel have, can't help wondering where they got it and what they do in there. If something happened to them, the tent would be fair game, as well as all the food in their packs. Jack eats his handful of rancid nuts and bit of stringy rabbit, watching bitterly while Samuel and Verity revel in their luxury. It's so not fair. Not right. Share the wealth!

When they reach a little clearing, Jeremiah calls for a halt. Others have stopped here, leaving a ring of fire-blackened stones, and several tin cans. Jack drops his pack gratefully, stands looking around. The wind begins to blow harder; the sky gets darker.

"Let's make a quick shelter," Jeremiah says to Jack and Gabriel. Shooting a jealous glance at Samuel and Verity as they begin setting up their tent, Jack follows the other two men a little way into the woods.

"Too bad we don't have a tent," he snarks, gathering pine branches. "I mean, it sure would make things a lot more pleasant, you know? This kinda sucks."

Jeremiah grunts but offers no comment. Neither does crazy boy, but Jack never expects anything from him. Sometimes he even forgets about the kid, until Jeremiah starts playing daddy with him.

When the three of them return to the campsite, the tent is up and tied down, and a fire is going in the stone circle, which probably isn't going to last very long, Jack thinks, glancing up at the furious sky.

It looks like someone else made or tried to make a shelter, so it doesn't take long before the three of them have constructed a decent one themselves in the same spot. By this time, however, Jack's hands are sticky with pine resin and he's hungry. Thirsty, too. Maybe there's a clean stream close by.

Then the delicious smell of cooking meat hits his nose and Jack freezes, mouth instantly awash in saliva. There's a pot of something bubbling over the fire.

"God, that smells amazing," he says, approaching the fire. Verity looks up, scowls.

"Sorry, there's only enough for us," Samuel offers an infuriating shrug.

"Yeah, but what about all the shit in your packs?"

"What about it?" Samuel's hand slides down to his knife.

Jack's voice is loud, he's pissed, these people are selfish assholes and he's had enough. "Share the wealth, man." He spreads his hands dramatically. "I mean, it's not fair or right that you are keeping all that food to yourself."

Samuel rises to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. "Fair? What does fair have to do with anything? We fought and scraped for what we have. We don't owe you shit."

"Don't you? We let you travel with us, gave you protection--"

"Protection?

You?

That's a joke." Verity stands and puts her hand in his, face a stone. White-hot jealousy burns in Jack's veins--it's not fair! None of this is fair. All that food and the only woman around for miles too?

Samuel smirks, as if he can read Jack's mind, and slips an arm around his lover's waist, hand on her hip. It's like he's doing it on purpose, rubbing their relationship in his face, as if they know Jack hasn't even touched a woman in months?Years? How long ago was Amelia--or Emma? What the hell was her name? How long has he been on this road to nowhere?

"We didn't have to let you join, asshole. And what exactly have you brought to this group, anyway?"

(Jeremiah)

"Jack, knock it off," Jeremiah says wearily, tired of Jack's childish complaining, tired of everyone's shit.

"Yeah,

Jack,

" Samuel sneers. "Knock it off."

He turns away, and Jack swings his fist at him, catching him by surprise and clipping his jaw. Samuel instantly slams his own clenched hand into Jack's cheek, rocking his head back. That blow is followed by a brutal jab to his midsection, and Jack crumples to the ground, gasping.

Samuel crouches beside him. "You think I don't know what this is about? I see you staring at her, you fucking creep. Leave us alone."

He returns to the fire, confident that Jack's received the message. Jeremiah has the feeling that it's not over yet.

(Jeremiah)

The rain finally comes, erupting from the boiling black clouds that have hovered above their heads all day. It comes down in blinding sheets, lightning crackling in their ears, wind tugging at their clothing. Instantly soaked, Jeremiah pulls his hat down farther against the deluge, stumbling over rocks.

Someone bumps into him--Gabriel. He grabs the boy's arm, drags him along, wonders where the others are. Dimly he can see figures ahead and heads that way. Samuel waves him closer, and when Jeremiah finally stumbles near, he sees that the man has found an outcropping to shelter beneath.

Finally out of the rain, Jeremiah drops his soaked pack to the ground and looks around at the others. Drowned rats, he thinks, with a glimmer of amusement that quickly dissipates as a chill sets in. Verity, her lips blue, shivers as she digs through her pack. Behind her, instead of the solid stone wall he expects, is a vast darkness.

Jeremiah peers into that darkness, hoping the cave is empty. They need this--the shelter, the fire, the chance to rest out of the elements. The chance to gather themselves, become a--what? A family? Is that even possible? With the animosity between Jack and Samuel, he doubts it could even happen.

Soon, a bright fire crackles, illuminating the cave entrance. Samuel stands in front of Verity while she changes, his arms folded, daring anyone to look. Possibly having learned his lesson, Jack busies himself with his own clothing, not even looking in that direction.

Jeremiah watches the flames, fighting the urge to bring out the skull, to rub its calming smoothness. His nerves twang with tension. Beside him Gabriel sharpens his knife, the familiar rasp blending with the crackling fire. Jack broods on the far side, with Verity and Samuel as far away from him as possible around the fire.

"I don't like this place." Gabriel's quiet voice startles Jeremiah. He glances at the older man, face worried. "Things live in caves, right? Like bears and stuff. What if--what if something's back in there sleeping and we're waking it up?"

Gabriel grips his knife when Jack laughs. "Better listen to crazy boy. He's been right before."

"Don't call me that!" Gabriel half-rises, cords standing out in his neck.

"Gabriel," Jeremiah says, and after a moment more of glaring, he sits back down.

"We're going too slowly," he complains, voice earnest. "We saw that sign--what? Almost a week ago? Why haven't we seen any more signs? Maybe we're lost? We can't get off track. Liam's there already, in Paradise, I know he is."

"We need to rest, Gabriel. Now settle down, all right? We'll go in the morning when the rain has stopped."

He nods reluctantly, shooting a nervous glance at the darkness beyond the fire. "I don't like this place."

"Then leave," Jack says idly. He's lying on his bedroll, arms behind his head, looking as if he hasn't a care in the world, as if he's in a five-star hotel rather than a cold cave. "No one will miss you."

"Shut the fuck up," Samuel says from the other side of the fire. "No one wants to hear your stupid mouth."

Jack mutters something under his breath before rolling over to sleep.

(Gabriel)

More and more signs of other travelers begin littering the road--and it's a real road now, broken asphalt and concrete, littered with the shells of dead cars and desiccated bodies here and there. Greyskins haunt this road, they discover not long after they come upon another billboard, this one assuring them in bright, jaunty colors that yes, they are indeed still on the right track, Paradise is up ahead.

Gabriel is pretty sure Verity is right, that Paradise is a scam, a trick, but there's a bit of hope deep inside that it's a good place, a safe place in this crazy world. A place to rest. After he kills Liam, of course.

He stops to take a drink.

(Jeremiah)

There's no warning. One second, they are walking easily, relaxed--too relaxed, he realizes as five greyskins silently run at them. He can barely get his pistol clear before a rotter with only half a face but all its teeth intact launches itself at Jeremiah.

He only has time for one shot, and it shears off the top of the thing's head in a spray of black blood and it staggers but doesn't go down. Jeremiah doesn't have time to look around to see how the others are doing, can only hope they can hold their own. Now the greyskin darts forward, its bony strength driving Jeremiah to one knee and he's fumbling for his knife, desperate breath whistling through dry lips.

It snaps horrible teeth in anticipation, smile a terrifying leer. He jabs the knife, the blade stabbing into the thing's shoulder, he's missed the mark, and now he's going to die. No. Not like this. Bony fingers grab his shoulder, and he stabs the thing in the side of the head, and finally it goes down and Jeremiah drops on top of it and thrusts the blade into its head over and over until it stops moving.

He jumps up, pulse pounding in his ears, the stench of dead blood in his nose. Panting, he retrieves his pistol, glances around and sees Gabriel's in trouble. He's backed up against a battered car, fending off a hulking greyskin. Gabriel kicks it in the belly, brings up his knife and slashes at its face, but the thing dodges, head darting forward like a snapping turtle.

Jeremiah pops off a bullet and the greyskin's head explodes in a burst of bone and rotting brains.

(Jack)

When the greyskins converge, Jack takes one look and starts running--every man for himself! Nothing wrong with that, right? The pistol he doesn't really know how to use bangs against his leg. He also has a small knife, but it isn't good for more than maybe whittling a stick. Dodging and jumping over the debris, the deja vu is strong, but he's not confident this will have the same outcome as before. Breathing hard, he risks a backward glance and his heart stutters at the nearness of the rotter. It's so close he can hear its teeth grinding and he nearly screams when it grins at him. God!

His breath begins to whistle in his chest, fatigue weighing down his legs, his entire body. Yanking at car doors, he gets lucky and dives inside a battered Mini Cooper, slamming the door shut barely in time. He mashes down the lock, twisting in the seat to make sure the rest are locked as well. The greyskin hammers and beats on the windows with its fists, leaving greasy smears on the glass.

Jack blows out his breath in relief when the dead thing turns away, wiping cold sweat from his face in the stuffy interior. Maybe there's something in the glovebox, maybe a water bottle because it sure seems like his luck has been reactivated and it's about damn time. Rummaging in the glove box produces nothing but an expired proof of insurance and a receipt for an oil change, the paper yellow with age.

"Well, damn," he mutters, checking beneath the seat.

The windshield spiderwebs suddenly, making him cry out. The greyskin is back, crowbar in hand. In the back of his mind Jack wonders where the hell it got that, but it doesn't matter, because one more blow and the glass shatters, showering him with tiny shards, and then the rotter is reaching in to pluck him like a pickle out of a tin can. Or a sardine, Jack thinks mirthlessly. Either way, he's dead.

(Jeremiah)

The ease with which Samuel and Verity dispatch the two greyskins is astonishing. He'd had his doubts about Verity but now he realizes that he was very wrong. She is equally as dangerous as Samuel, he decides, watching her dance and dart with the rotter. The big knife (which he'd looked at with such skepticism) seems a part of her body as she handles it with practiced ease. Samuel had said they were good with knives, and he hadn't lied.

The greyskin goes down, headless now, and Verity whirls in time to drive her Gurkha knife into the other rotter at the same time as Samuel, and the two grin at each other over the twitching corpse.

"Where's Jack?" Gabriel says at his elbow, greasy hair hanging in his eyes. Tearing his eyes away from the spectacle, Jeremiah curses. He hasn't given a thought to Jack, and has the abrupt thought of why would he? Jack's a grown man, he can take care of himself.

But he can't, I know that. I also know that I can't save everyone.

Despite those thoughts, Jeremiah starts half-running along the road. He's sure he saw Jack head this way; maybe he's holed up in one of these cars. Gabriel trots alongside him, eager as always to use his weapon.

A greyskin pounds through the windshield of a small vehicle and yanks a screaming Jack out of the car. Jeremiah whips out his pistol and hesitates; he doesn't want to hit Jack.

Gabriel's knife flies past his shoulder and hits the rotter a glancing blow to the neck. It turns and looks at Jeremiah, a disconcertingly aware gaze. His heart stutters, his mouth going dry. Those eyes are full of death.

Keeping hold of Jack by one arm, the greyskin lunges for Jeremiah, fingers bent like claws. Unlike the one he'd dispatched, this thing is relatively fresh, with only a faint grey tinge to its skin. In life this middle-aged man with a balding head and a potbelly had been a husband, a father, a son. A person. Now, though, it is a rampaging cannibal.

Too slow, old man. You're going to die now. And die for Jack, who wouldn't lift a finger to save anyone.

Twin knives bury themselves in the greyskin's head, and it falls, twitching, Jack beneath it. He bleats in terror, writhing on the ground, arm still imprisoned in the thing's grip.

"Get it off me," Jack begs, his voice strangled. He shoves at the heavy body frantically. "Help! Help!" The greyskin lies across Jack's midsection, trapping him with its dead weight, viscous fluids leaking.

Samuel and Verity step over, and he yanks the knives out with a wet sound. Pausing, he looks at Jack for a moment before crouching down so they are eye to eye.

Smiling faintly, he draws a blade across Jack's head, wiping the blood in his hair, and Verity snickers.

Jack jerks his head to the side. "Fuck you, you son of a bitch. Thanks for nothing."

"I don't need your thanks. It wasn't for you, anyway." Rising, he takes his lover's hand and the two of them walk away, Verity still grinning.

"That was brilliant," Jeremiah hears her say, and he sighs inwardly. Nothing good is going to come from this.

He glances at Gabriel and motions to Jack. "Let's get that thing off him," he says, voice weary. It's an unpleasant job, the body a dead weight, squishy and soft. There's no good place to get a grip, the flesh slipping off the bones. Only the tattered shirt keeps Jeremiah's hand from sinking into it. Vomit rises in his throat, and he swallows hard. Gabriel, his face strained, gives one last heave and finally Jack is free. Or almost. The greyskin's hand still grips his wrist, and although Jack claws frantically at it, it won't come off.

"Get it off me! Get it off me!"

Gabriel approaches with his knife out, and Jack shrinks back, maybe recalling his snarky remarks and wondering if the kid will finish what the greyskin started.

He slices the grey arm off at the wrist, leaving the hand where it is. Jack plucks ineffectually at the stiff fingers, mouth falling open when Jeremiah and Gabriel leave it.

"Hey, where are you guys going? Aren't you going to get this thing off my arm? Hey! Come on, Jeremiah. I need some help!"

(Jack)

Assholes. All of them are absolute assholes, Jack decides after a day of walking in the hot sun, hand in dead hand with his unwanted friend. No matter how hard he tries he can't pry the fingers off. It reeks, too, and he can't get away from the smell. It hovers in the air, a noxious cloud that makes his eyes water. Not one of these assholes lifts a finger (har har) to help, either. No, they smirk and keep their distance. Fine. Let them laugh. Soon he'll be the one laughing when something bad happens and he won't lift a finger for any of them.

Right now, though, he isn't laughing, isn't doing anything but sweating. He shuffles along at the back, resentful and silent. All his good humor is gone, thanks to that goddamn Samuel. Look at him up there by Jeremiah, stupid hair held back with a string so that it looks like a weird mushroom on the top of his skinny body. And that bitch. He still hears her snicker when Samuel wiped the blade in his hair. That's what stings the most, he decides, watching her. The only female around and she's with an asshole. Figures.

Sweat tinged with rotter drips down his face and he wipes it away with his free hand. Jack really needs a moment to clean up, but the bastards won't stop, won't slow down, they just ignore him and keep walking, walking walking. He's so damn tired of walking!

The sun beats down on his head, his feet burn in his shoes, and he'd sell his soul for a shower or a soft chair. Hell, just a bit of shade would do. Jack picks at the reeking fingers clutching his wrist, bits of grey flesh flaking off. It feels a little looser today, he thinks, and digs harder. One finger breaks with a snap, and then the next. Emboldened, he slides his fingers under the palm and pulls hard until it comes off. He hefts the reeking thing, brings up his Little League muscle memory, and throws it as hard as he can at Samuel's back.

(Gabriel)

He stumbles along, half-listening to Jeremiah and Samuel talking about Paradise and what to do next. Verity is up ahead, scouting their path. She doesn't say much, doesn't really interact with anyone except Samuel. She seems okay, though, both are okay, he decides.

The next few billboards are defaced, the encouraging words scratched off. It feels ominous, like a warning. As if the attacking greyskins hadn't been warning enough, he thinks, stroking his knife hilt. It doesn't matter, though. Greyskins or not, he'll keep going until he finds Liam. That's the only thing that matters.

When he glances behind him, he sees Jack picking at the hand attached to his wrist. The sight makes him smile a little, because if anyone deserves that, it's him. What a selfish, self-serving ass he is. Gabriel wonders why Jeremiah has put up with him for so long, because as near as he can tell, he doesn't much like Jack. But Jeremiah's the kindest person Gabriel's ever met. It's his strength as well as his weakness.

They can see buildings in the distance now, like a mirage in the desert. But is it real? That's the question. And if it's not, what then?

I just keep going until I find Liam. That's what I do.

(Jeremiah)

"We should be seeing other travelers, or at least signs of them," Samuel says, then abruptly stops when something hits him in the back. "What the fuck?"

The mangled and rotting hand lies on the concrete; there's a wet spot on Samuel's shirt now. Jack starts laughing like the fool he is.

"How do you like that, asshole? Stinks, don't it?" He does a little dance, really goofing it up, as if he's just playing a silly joke. It's not funny, though, not one bit. Jeremiah watches Samuel to see what he will do.